


Sweet Dreams

by sodasouffle (mellowie)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Battle, Byhardt Week (Fire Emblem), Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Romantic Fluff, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24751564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowie/pseuds/sodasouffle
Summary: “The Professor has fallen!” Lysithea’s distant cry accentuates the ringing in his ears. “He needs healing at once! Hurry, over there!”“Byleth!”When the Professor collapses in battle, even the midst of bloodshed, the first person to reach his side is none other than Linhardt.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 80
Collections: BYHARDT WEEK 2020





	Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to try seeing a different side of Linhardt when he loses his composure due to Byleth possibly getting hurt!

The onslaught of dizziness comes in waves. The first wave makes Byleth’s head go light, as though he is about to float. His body hardens into lead and he can’t find his bearings. In the next wave, he is seeing circles.

What is he doing? Oh, that’s right. Taking care of bandits that had taken a village hostage near the monastery. Byleth vaguely remembers receiving a request for help at the break of dawn. Hordes of bandits seeking to expand their influence are nothing out of the ordinary, but they might pose a serious threat if left unchecked. A team was swiftly organised for this quick mission, mostly consisting of Byleth and students who were early risers or happened to be awake. He is able to retrace the lines of his memory that far. That alleviates a part of his worries.

What comes after that?

He surveys his vast surroundings, squinting through the haze. There is Felix at the frontlines, cutting down every enemy that enters his field of vision with a clean slice of his sword. There is Sylvain in armour mounted on a sturdy horse, wielding a silver lance. When he is not hollering and charging at his opponents, he is directing the villagers to safety with his charismatic smile. Lysithea has just dispersed another gathering group of bandits via Swarm Z and beside her, Shamir deals damage by steadily firing arrows from behind a debris of rocks. The rest of his view is splattered red in blood.

Drifting his shaky gaze over to the fringe of the village now reduced to ruins, Byleth spots the familiar silhouette of Linhardt leaning over Ashe in the shade of an oak tree. 

Ashe winces a little as he examines his left leg, but after the healer applies magic over the wound, Ashe looks amazed and gives him a thumbs up. The two of them proceed to be absorbed in a chat. Linhardt is keeping busy healing the casualties and staying away from direct physical conflict, as usual. Most importantly, he appears to be free from harm, and so are the rest of the team. 

Byleth wishes Linhardt didn’t have to follow them along into combat. Even if his excellent healing abilities would be of great use, Byleth had hoped to prevent him from witnessing the extent of the carnage. But surprising enough, Linhardt had insisted on his presence this time. He even made the effort of dragging himself out of bed to prepare for their journey, yawning constantly nevertheless. When Byleth prompts him for the reason, Linhardt merely smiles and replies with an equivocal answer, chuckling at the professor’s disgruntled expression.

Unfortunately, Linhardt doesn’t seem to be aware that Byleth has been staring in his direction from a few feet away. This proves to be evident for when he turns around to walk towards the opposite path. It is also at this moment that Byleth begins to take serious notice of his critical condition as Linhardt’s back begins to shift out of focus.

Strange. Byleth doesn’t feel the oozing of blood or the burning of pain in any part of his body, not so much as a scratch. But no matter how many times he rubs his eyes or shakes his head, the blurriness of his vision refuses to go away. Baffled, he struggles to unravel the cause. They are out in broad daylight under the searing heat of the sun, and as far as he can remember, there have been no reports of a Dark mage unleashing a fog as a means of subversion. His recollection is further confirmed by a lack of torches carried in the students’ hands.

If that is the case, then what sort of deviant spell was casted onto him without his knowledge? It drains away the strength in his limbs and cuts his breath short. But the most potent symptom of all is the creeping fatigue preying on his nerves and mind. He senses not a single soul around him, yet it arrives as a sneaking attack on his consciousness.

Byleth summons energy from his core to take a step forward, to reach for help- but to whom? To the green frame in the horizon. To the person who would have the most upset reaction to his current ailment. But who is he thinking of? He had never seen his mother, Sothis has ostensibly disappeared, and his precipitous drop in blood pressure prevents him from speculating further.

His legs buckle under his weight, causing him to stagger. His grip on the handle of his sword loosens and the Sword of the Creator slips between his fingers like fine sand. If he had been submerged underwater, he could no longer reach the shore. He collapses.

“The Professor has fallen!” Lysithea’s distant cry accentuates the ringing in his ears. “He needs healing at once! Hurry, over there!”

Like a glass cup spilled on a carpet, the world tips and lands onto its side. His cheek is pressed against the concrete ground, with pebbles and broken twigs scattered across the barren surface. Considering the wide space between him and his allies, it will take quite a while for anyone to reach him by foot. If it’s by horse, the duration may be shortened to a few seconds.

But what Byleth desires most right now is rest. After enduring the grief-stricken events far beyond his control, he has come to realise that he has been tired for a long, long time. The sun rays beat down on him, sending sweat trickling down his forehead. He is infinitely ready to accept the remainder of his tangled fate and give in to the enclosing darkness.

From the other end of the dark tunnel, there hums a pulse.

Over the incessant buzzing, he perceives a separate rhythm of sound. The vibration is too light to be the hooves of a hurried horse. As the same set of sound approaches him, there is a break in-between, followed by a quick shuffle as it picks up again. Byleth discerns it to be the hasty footfall of a person in an extreme rush. Someone who has tripped over their own steps but they are not letting it halt their way. They must be rushing towards him with all their might. Who could be pushing themselves so hard to overcome the stretch of distance between them?

“ _Byleth!_ ” 

The name that not even his father calls on a regular basis pierces the stifling air. He feels the gentle touch of fingers on the back of his neck, and his head is propped and laid on the soft texture of cloth. Byleth cracks his eyes open. When the cloud of blurriness parts for a split second, Linhardt’s face contorted in distress is the first thing he sees.

“Professor, can you hear me?” The trembling in Linhardt‘s voice penetrates through his mist of swirling thoughts. His hand is cupped around Byleth’s right cheek, holding him close. It occurs to Byleth that his head is resting on his lap. 

Byleth’s eyes glazed over the murky outlines of the young man. “Lin...hardt?” he blurts out without thinking. He meant to call out his name, but his words end up as an incomprehensible dry croak.

“I’m here. I’m right here with you,” Linhardt soothes him, brushing the tricklets of sweat off his forehead. “Please, stay with me. Your skin is pale and cold but there’s no visible wound. Was it a dark spell? Who did it? What happened?” 

Linhardt throws his composure into utter disregard as he fires questions one after the other. Byleth tries his utmost best to delay the inevitable closure of his heavy eyelids so that he can convey his message.

“Linhardt…be...careful…”

“Of what? What is it? Is there an enemy? Did you get stabbed?” 

“Be...careful,” Byleth draws in a breath deep enough to string together a coherent whisper. “There’s blood nearby… You might faint…”

Silence befalls him. Linhard adopts a few long seconds to process Byleth's answer. From the way he stays still, he appears to have regained his calm. But the look of unfathomable surprise in his eyes soon betrays him and his response is not pretty.

“Oh, my dear Professor,” Linhardt speaks through gritted teeth. “Now is not the time to be noble and express concern for my well-being. I can assure that if there’s anyone who is about to faint, that would be you.”

“Ah, sorry…”

Seeing Linhardt’s normally placid expression turn harsh, an awful pang strikes Byleth in his unbeating heart. He is used to chiding Linhardt for his insensitivity, not the other way around. Did he somehow manage to make Linhardt mad at him for the first time? The very notion induces a pain far worse than any injury he had received in battle. As though Linhardt’s emotions had seeped into him, Byleth scrunches up his face.

“Professor? Where does it hurt?” Linhardt grows increasingly desperate, mistaking his change in expression for physical pain. “Please, talk to me, I beg of you. You can’t fall asleep yet, I won’t allow it…”

Thick, wet droplets fall onto Byleth’s cheek in tiny splashes. The weather is persistently humid and sunny, therefore they are not from a sudden outpour of rain, nor are they big enough to be dewdrops. If that is so, why is Linhardt wearing an expression of immense sorrow?

“There’s...a dull ache….” Byleth’s speech starts to slur, like the time when he had experienced his first taste of red wine. Linhardt’s hand tightens on his, but Byleth can’t tell how warm or cold it feels due to the tingling of numbness at his fingertips.

“An ache? Where?”

“In my chest…” 

It breaks Byleth to know that he is the source of Linhardt’s agony. He didn’t know of its impact, of how much he can't bear to see him like that. 

“Linhardt, please don’t cry...”

Byleth gathers his last ounce of strength to spurt out his last words. He makes it in time before the world begins to crumble into distorted puzzle pieces. Linhardt’s lips are moving at a rapid speed, but Byleth can no longer keep up with them. The haze smothers his vision and the noise fades away, forcing Linhardt along with everything else into the perpetual void.

What is left of his power fails him and the darkness wraps him in its arms, overwhelming him with a sense of serenity and laying his worn spirits to rest.

~~~

First, there is silence. It surrounds him, tranquil, unmoving, almost deliberate. Then the overlapping of whispers cuts through the stillness, resonating in his muddled head. Someone is pleading with him to step back into the mortal realm. Someone who needs him badly. His soul quakes with a rejuvenated energy, hovering past the dark veil and breaking it apart.

After a pounding pause, silence falls.

Byleth emerges from his brief episode of unconsciousness. He opens his eyes, slow like the rise of a curtain, welcoming him to the familiar sight of the infirmary. His bulky armour has been stripped, replaced by a comfortable white shirt. The last of the sunlight pours through the window and shines upon Lysithea, who erupts with joy.

“Professor!” she cries. “You’ve come around at last!”

“Oh, thank the Goddess! Here, Professor, drink up,” Ashe immediately hands him a glass of water as though he has been waiting for this moment. Byleth accepts it with grace and gulps down the entire glass.

“Ashe? Lysithea?” Byleth mumbles as he blinks at them in a daze. “What happened?”

“After clearing the area of bandits, we focused all our attention onto healing you, Professor. But the problem is, we couldn’t find any serious injuries or curses that might have led to you fainting. In fact, you seem to be perfectly well. We didn’t know what to make of the situation, to be honest,” Lysithea explains. “So we carried you back to the monastery as soon as we could to ask Manuela for help.”

“In which Linhardt here was terribly adamant about staying at your side at all costs,” Manuela shakes her head. “He wanted to assist in your check-up, going so far as to say that he knows your body best since he has ‘seen it many times’. Can you believe the nerve of that boy? Telling that to my face when I can barely get a date to last longer than three nights...”

Ashe chuckles at Manuela’s light-hearted envy. “But things worked out fine. As it turns out, you were simply deprived of sleep all along! That was what made your body shut down on itself. Looks like our Professor isn’t always as tough as nails as we thought, huh?”

Byleth leans back against the fluffy pillow. Fainting due to exhaustion? That explained his intense dizziness without the need for a physical attack. 

“I see. Yet again, I’ve been asleep…” Letting out a sigh, he is about to sweep the bangs over his forehead when he notices a light weight on his hand. Byleth glances down and sees Linhardt next to him, lying his head on the bed, fast asleep. His hand is placed on Byleth’s, their fingers curled in a secure lock. To know that Linhardt remains unharmed, a surge of relief courses through Byleth.

“But I’m glad you’re all right, Professor!” Lysithea smiles. “Truly, we were beyond ourselves with worry. But I think the person most concerned for your health is Linhardt. You should have seen the look in his eyes when he saw you collapse! I’ve never seen him panic like that before. He was way more distraught than the time Annette and I set his library books on fire during magic practice.”

Byleth stares at her, slightly horrified. “Don’t worry, it was a minor accident and no one was harmed,” Lysithea gives an abrupt cough before she continues. “The point is, Linhardt cares about you very much, Professor. I’m sure he will be worried to death if you faint again, so try not to overdo it, all right?”

Byleth shifts his gaze from Lysithea to the snoozing Linhardt and nods. Manuela sets away a stack of papers, adjusts the flower vase on the table and puts one hand on her hip.

“Well, all that’s left is for you to take the rest of the night off and sleep to your heart’s content,” Manuela says. “For the first time in a long while, a patient’s road to recovery is rather simple.”

“Right, we’ve done our part here. Why don’t we go ahead and give the lovebirds their space?” Ashe suggests as he claps his hands together.

“Lovebirds? In my infirmary?” Manuela widens her eyes in shock. “Why, I can’t imagine such frivolous activities taking place when I’m more than-“

“...And we should probably get going. See you tomorrow!” Lysithea pushes Manuela along with her out the door, trying to get her to take a hint. Byleth stares after them, confused. Ashe offers him an airy smile.

“Have a good rest, Professor,” Ashe calls. He shuts the door, leaving Byleth and Linhardt behind to their devices.

In the wake of the three, a quiet chill now settles in the air. Byleth puts the glass aside as he relaxes and glances down. Shimmering moonlight that filters through the window highlights Lindhardt’s jawline. Byleth is unsurprised that Linhardt hasn’t stirred from the ruckus; he can practically sleep through anything. Watching him doze away, feeling the tickles of his breath, endearment rises within Byleth’s chest in which there has been a previous ache.

With his other hand that is not intertwined with Linhardt’s, Byleth reaches out to smooth a strand of hair sticking out of his partner’s bed hair. As he does so, his fingers brush against delicate eyelashes, which begin to twitch seconds later. Groggy, Linhardt rouses, murmuring incoherences. He raises his head with a yawn, and their eyes meet.

“Professor…? Are you awake? Is this...real?”

“Yes, Linhardt, are you all righ-“

Before Byleth can finish his sentence, Linhardt throws his arms around him with such force that it knocks him backwards. With a squeeze, Byleth returns his tight embrace, soaking in the mage’s distinct scent. Linhardt buries his face into Byleth’s broad shoulder, hands clenching at the back of his shirt.

“I thought I was having the sweetest dream where you were with me, but this is so much better,” Linhardt’s voice comes out muffled. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Much better than before,” Byleth isn’t certain if he’s telling the absolute truth. But to him, there’s something more important at hand. Timid as a mouse, he asks, “are you still mad at me?”

“Mad at you? Professor, I can never,” Linhardt pulls back to stroke Byleth’s cheek. “When it occurred to me that you could have gotten hurt on my watch and I couldn’t prevent it, it nearly drove me crazy. For this to happen to you… I apologise.”

“What do you mean?” Byleth frowns. “It’s not your fault I neglected my health.”

“No, I should’ve done something much earlier when I noticed you’ve been overexerting yourself lately. I know full well you’re not the type to voice out your concerns,” Linhardt says, tracing circles on the back of Byleth’s hand with his finger. “I know I can’t stop you from fighting either, so I thought I could at least look after you on the battlefield. But I got careless. I should have never parted from your side.”

So that’s the reason why he sacrificed sleep to accompany the team that morning. Byleth nods with a newfound understanding.

“You did the best you could, Linhardt. I thank you for that. I wish you don't have to trouble yourself over me, but if taking care of myself more means worrying you less, then I'll do it,” Byleth reassures him. “This war may be difficult, but as long as you’re safe with me, that’s all that matters.”

Linhardt gazes into the clarity of his eyes, mesmerised by what he sees. He gives a bright smile. “Even after all these years, you never change, Professor,” he whispers. “I’m eternally grateful for that.”

“So am I for you,” Byleth’s cool expression softens. “It’s late. Come, let’s get you back to your room,” he tugs at Linhardt’s arm. “I’ll walk you there.”

Linhardt puffs his cheeks in a cute pout. “But Professor, I can’t let you do that. You’re the patient in question, and you know I want to stay with you. Besides, someone needs to be here in the event that anything happens, and I declare that person to be me.”

Byleth grunts as per the norm whenever Linhardt gets his way. Linhardt beams victorious as he climbs onto the bed and sneaks under the covers. Snuggling up happily to his beloved professor, he cooes.

“I’m pleased we can be alone like this. It’s been quite a while, don’t you think?” he brushes the bangs off Byleth’s forehead, delighting in the warm flush of his cheeks.

“Now let’s get you to bed. If any of your nightmares return, I’ll be here to drive them away. Do you recall what I always say about sleep?” Linhardt grins, drawing Byleth in with alluring eyes of confidence. “It works best when we do it together.”

And with that, Linhardt kisses the professor, and Byleth melts under his taste, his touch, and lets the love of his life take lead the way into the deep, tender night.

**Author's Note:**

> in the end i yearn for byhardt...


End file.
